


bleed your blue blood into me; crown me with your sincerity

by starrytobios



Series: for i have sinned [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Commoner Miya Atsumu, Kageyama Tobio in Love, Knight Miya Atsumu, M/M, Miya Atsumu in Love, Miya Atsumu-centric, Prince Kageyama Tobio, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26544913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrytobios/pseuds/starrytobios
Summary: They’re plainly the cards the universe dealt Atsumu, and now he’s playing poker with the fates, betting his livelihood on every play, solely for the whimsical desire not found in the life of the average man.And destiny responds in kind, placing down a card that fourteen-year-old Miya Atsumu could never have predicted.Destiny gives him Kageyama Tobio.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Miya Atsumu
Series: for i have sinned [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894735
Comments: 15
Kudos: 139





	bleed your blue blood into me; crown me with your sincerity

Atsumu knows he is a mere mortal, a civilian with begrimed blood and a family name that holds no influence or authority amongst its flimsy characters. He has always known it to be fact, pestering as it is, that when you aren’t nobility, you are nothing. No one looks upon you with any interest; they don’t even spare you a second glance. 

But Atsumu also knows he is not one to wilt away, not one to blend in and become another bleary-eyed face in a hazy crowd. He has too much pride — too many passions. He has too much ambition to die on the step of the social ladder that he was born on. 

He may be a commoner, but he refuses to be _common_ , that word is dreadfully dull, like silver that had lost its shine many moons ago. He refuses it like aristocrats refuse to bow to others, and he decides when he is young that the name Miya Atsumu need not need be spoken like that of kings. The name Miya Atsumu should be _declared_ , like that of foreign princes, it should have the gravity of noblemen that sweep courtiers off their feet, it should be indisputable in its power, in its meaning, but not because he was born into it.

Not because he was born into it, but because his hunger made it so.

He promises to carve his own way to the top, push and shove without question because there is no king, no higher being, no gods, no conceivable deity, that can hold back the ungoverned desire Atsumu possesses.

And he doesn’t care what others think of his status, of his background, of how his mother is a seamstress and his father, the underling for the old, grey-haired fossil that tutors the royal family in the ways of a sword. He is prideful, and that means he stays rooted in what makes him a Miya, despite what snotty-nosed, privileged brats might whisper. Those things don’t change who he really is, they’re plainly the cards the universe dealt him, and now he’s playing poker with the gods, betting his livelihood on every play, solely for the whimsical desire not found in the life of the average man. 

Osamu sometimes likes to say that this is Atsumu’s greatest downfall: sheer disregard for the judgments of others. And Atsumu doesn’t care. 

Never has; never will. 

It’s just not in his blood.

And apparently there are many things that are not in his blood: diplomacy and prudence being two of them. They are things he cannot manage in the face of his riotous appetite for more.

More comes in the form of shifting tides: his father becomes the sole sword-trainer for the children of nobility, and so his job is a shimmering golden ticket of opportunity, a piece of coal that Atsumu can clasp onto and force into a diamond. He can scramble up the stairway of gold, gemstones and stateliness with his bruised, calloused hands, sneer at the highbred, pig-faces royals at the top with his dirt-smeared face, chipped teeth and messy straw-coloured hair.

(He won’t cause problems, not when his father’s job could end up on the line, but he will push. He will shove. He will force his way to his desires with sweetened smiles, candied words, and a charming demeanour to thinly veil the smirks and roundabout catechisms devised specially to wind people up).

More comes in the form of eagerness to define himself, underline and highlight, bold and place in italics: he will walk like he owns the place, and be more prominent than the children of nobility at anything and everything they try. He will be so good, so inconceivably perfect, in every aspect of his existence that it will make their blood freeze. 

He sneers gleefully at the mere idea of it: _how’s that for a play destiny?_

And destiny responds in kind, placing down a card that fourteen-year-old Miya Atsumu could never have predicted. Destiny decides to give him more.

Kageyama Tobio. 

_Destiny gives him Kageyama Tobio._

Atsumu isn’t religious, life has enough going on without him having to agonise over the workings of the universe. He attends church because his mother does, and he barely listens to sermons, choosing much rather to focus on pestering ‘Samu than adding another layer to the ladder of existence that he is already at the base of. 

But Tobio makes him question.

Tobio has made him question from their very first meeting. He has made him question every year since because there is no one quite like him.

He makes Atsumu believe that there has to be something up there, whether it be God, or fates, or a race of creatures not quite human that control the workings of their universe, anything, because there’s no way that Tobio is a coincidence.

The way he satisfies his appetite; the way he was the only of of these entitled brats that could keep up with Atsumu during his father’s lessons; how he gleams at him from his throne at the peak of the ladder and makes his blood rush when he is seventeen and Tobio finally knocks Atsumu’s sword from his hand, makes the dust on the ground feel like flecks of gold powder and defeat taste like champagne. All of it. It cannot be coincidental.

It simply can’t be, not when Tobio seems to be the only thing that can placate the fire that is his voracity, not when Tobio, unwittingly perhaps, manages to be the answer to everything.

Atsumu refuses to be ordinary, refuses to remain as another face in the countless line of courtiers and citizens that are nothing next to royalty, always has, always will, and Tobio doesn’t let him.

Tobio doesn’t let him fade. 

He bleeds his blue blood into Atsumu’s soul, paints him in regal colours, shades of crimson and amethyst dug into Atsumu’s skin like royal decrees. He melts into him like they were always one being, letting his nobility stitch itself into Atsumu’s bones, like they are forever connected. He pins the elder against his silk sheets, with hands that will one day hold a sceptre and orb, but right now are more focused on him, like they should be, like he is gifting him a kingdom of his own. Tobio gets under him and around him and covers every inch of him with his presence, he never lets him feel like he is lonesome, let alone not enough.

Tobio crowns him, with his blunt requests and neediness, gives him power over a man that should have always been out of a commoner’s grasp, a man whose throne is situated at the top of the ladder, and Atsumu relishes in this fact. He indulges in the idea that he can bring a crown prince, a king-to-be, onto his knees; he indulges in this love that Tobio gives so willingly. He’s always been ambitious but Tobio is more than that, with Tobio his passions seem fulfilled, with him he is already a king, and there is suddenly no need for the outside world, or worldly status, when he sits upon the throne of the prince’s heart. That seems to be worth a million times more than whatever this kingdom could offer him; any gifts would be futile, for he has already coveted their crown jewel. 

And there are days when Tobio whines and pleads and begs, sets his crown aside and spreads the kingdom of his body for Atsumu to love, to rule, to dig his unworthy hands into and find them dripping in gold and desire.

Tobio is made of pearls, ivory and precious, kissed by fate and handed over to Atsumu on a silver platter, like this is everything he deserves. He can barely believe it all. He can barely believe that he has Tobio face down, panting hard into his pillows, bed sheets bunched up in his grip, looking like a masterpiece intended for his eyes only. But it is that and more, Atsumu can barely believe that Tobio gives himself so readily, like a commoner is worthy enough to run his fingers over the prince’s samite skin, aureate and shining with sweat, worthy enough to reach into the mess of his anthracite tresses and pull hard, eliciting a few sharp hisses from the man beneath him. 

Twenty years old and Atsumu is still as ambitious as when he was six, his dreams have yet to change, he still wants importance, but now he dares to add in the figure of a crown prince, gently clasping onto him, in every possible desire.

He dares to drop the falsities and the ambition just for a moment and still feel loved; to still feel seen and heard, like he finally matters.

“Tobio...are ya’ really okay with me?” Atsumu asks one day, with Kageyama settled comfortably in his arms, like a precious little island principality tucked away in the embrace of a vast ocean.

He shifts into Atsumu’s figure, staring up at him with quirked eyebrows and a wobbly frown, lips kiss-swollen and pink around the edges, slick with almost-dry saliva that glistens under the flicker of candlelight, looking so utterly kissable that Atsumu wouldn’t mind swooping in yet again. He considers it too, but Tobio’s voice is what keeps him grounded, fingers playing with the short, damp strands of hair on the back of Atsumu’s neck.

“What do you mean, Atsumu-san?”

Atsumu. 

The name sounds good on Tobio’s tongue; it sounded even better about ten minutes ago, when it was all Tobio could manage to say. He really does manage to make him feel like the foriegn prince or the nobleman that sweeps courtiers off their feet. It is another gift that Tobio has bestowed upon him: the hoarse tone of his voice sending chills down his spine as the breathless exclaim of _Atsumu_ grates against his throat, coming out raspy and full of reverence. How Tobio makes him feel so weak in the knees, yet somehow more in control than ever before in his life, is an enigma, even to him.

“I mean me. You. _Us_...” Atsumu isn’t vocal about feelings like this, but Tobio can coax them out without even realising it. He has that sort of presence, plus, he makes him feel like a king and kings can say the sorts of things commoners can’t so he doesn’t pass up on the opportunity, “Is this enough for ya’? S’not boggin’ ya down or somethin’ is it?”

For all the bravado Atsumu displays, he is all too soft on the inside. And he partially blames Tobio for that. Tobio who takes hands that are bruised and used to labour and kisses them into soft, gentle ones that have not seen a day’s work in the sun. Tobio who dulls the sharp edges of Atsumu’s sword of emotions and turns it into a blunt ornament, bedazzled and for show in the halls of a castle. Tobio who takes away the drudgery of Atsumu’s existence and skips straight to the reward, effectively leaving him to overindulge in dulcet emotions he would not usually entertain. Light laughter like a summer breeze tickling against the crook of his neck. Stolen glances that feel like a sudden pull of gravity on his falling heart. Chaste kisses behind secluded castle walls that never fail to sprout butterflies in his stomach.

So he becomes vulnerable. 

He drops his shield and sticks his sword in the grass, defenceless and open, hoping that the man on the opposite side would not shoot him down. Atsumu doesn’t care what others think, that much has not changed, it will never change. He is still proud of all the things that make him a Miya, seamstress mother, trainer father, baker brother and all. 

But Tobio’s opinion seems to matter.

He doesn’t believe for a second that Tobio has a stuck-up bone in his body, nor malicious feelings towards people like Atsumu, but there’s that nagging feeling always troubling him. Thoughts of whispers and rumours and how castles built on shaky ground can crumble all too quickly, especially if their king is coming undone, thread by thread. Today is the sort of day where Atsumu feels this paranoia, where his threadbare feelings lie on his wrists, heart on his sleeve as the crown Tobio gifted him slips into oblivion, leaving a citizen who may have bitten off more than he could chew.

“If you weren’t enough for me, why would I be here with you?” Tobio answers all too seriously, lips curled up into the faintest frown.

And there is the candour that Atsumu is still not accustomed to. He wonders if the prince is aware of this fascinating ability of his, aware of how a simple phrase from him can curl around the roof of Atsumu’s head, settling on his blonde locks like a diadem. 

He wonders if Tobio knows that he crowns Astumu with his sincerity.

That is enough, and Tobio has single-handedly rebuilt the foundations of Atsumu’s castle, leaving him with an easy smile and too much love for his heart to contain.

So he doesn’t contain it. He returns it — every bit and more. He sinks it into the exposed flesh of Tobio’s shoulder, kisses it into his mouth, uses his fingers to bruise it into the dip of his hips, uses his teeth to bite and leave marks of adoration in between Tobio’s legs, thighs dotted in imprints, mulberry and mauve — regal just like him. 

Atsumu gives and Tobio takes. 

Tobio gives and Atsumu takes. 

And the cycle continues — will _keep_ continuing. And just as the world will keep turning, and kings will keep ruling, Miya Atsumu will keep loving Kageyama Tobio, even if it was never his place to do so. Because Kageyama makes it his place, no matter what fate may have decided for them all those years ago.

He remembers his challenge, his cocky remark at the universe before Tobio fell into his lap like a perfectly timed present: _How’s that for a play destiny?_

He wonders if whoever or whatever decides the course of their lives can see this; wonders if they know that no matter what is thrown at him, Tobio is always going to be his answer. Even in the face of all the things that he desires.

Time passes, and Tobio gives Atsumu reason, grants him nobility, and Atsumu feels alive. He is lost in lopsided pouts, confused glares and cerulean eyes as hypnotic as the point where the sea meets the sky. 

His dreams continue to stretch towards the horizon, but the horizon ends at the borders of the castle, and Tobio’s arms are the expanse that he wishes to reach. And he keeps on climbing, but only ever on his own. After all, Tobio’s place on the ladder is not his to take, nor his to keep. He is a mere guest, but the prince damn sure makes him feel welcome.

“I could put in a word for you.”

Too welcome.

“I already toldja, if I become a knight it’s cause I woulda worked for it.”

Atsumu loves him, beyond belief. It’s scary almost. But there are some things Tobio’s royalty should not interfere with, and Atsumu’s aspiration is most definitely one of them.

“You do work for it. I would only suggest you to the king.” Atsumu rolls his eyes at the statement and Tobio can’t help but raise his voice just a smidge, steepling his fingers on the table between them, “ _Just listen to me for once_. Everyone already thinks highly of you because of your father, your mother is a magnificent seamstress, and hell, even your brother’s bakery is talked about by courtiers: you’d only be utilising your name. It’s what you’re born into, and you should claim it.”

“I’m not gonna ride the coattails of what my family members have barely managed to build up, I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it.” Tobio may be a prince, but he clearly underestimates Atsumu’s stubbornness. Hell will freeze over before he learns to give in to these noble demands. Tobio could scathe his tongue with a hot iron rod and Atsumu would still not yield, would still find a way to spit syllables of disagreement from the charred surfaces of his mouth. He has too much pride to bow, and too much self-righteousness to take the hand that the prince is offering.

“God, ‘Tsumu, if anyone deserves it, it is _you_ —”

“Why won’tcha drop it, Tobio?” Atsumu cuts in, voice tight and jaw clenched, “Not everybody wants things because they were born into them.”

There’s an insinuation in that sentence that even Kageyama manages to pick up. He’s twenty years old now, not perfect, but a lot wiser than the socially clueless teenager Atsumu met all those years ago. Atsumu isn’t one hundred percent the same either, and just as the sea has slowly risen and the earth has slowly warmed, Miya Atsumu has softened, because Kageyama Tobio has made him do so.

There’s a tense silence. And Tobio has a thinly veiled look of hurt on his face, the type of expression that reminds Atsumu of how genuine and fragile the prince is. Atsumu is too rough around the edges, he handles things too recklessly, but Tobio is supposed to be the exception. 

“Why are you being like this? Why are you trying to pick a fight?” He swallows hard, eyeing Atsumu with a judgmental glare. 

Tobio’s glares are a language of their own, and Atsumu has become fluent, instantly recognising from the downwards arch of his brows, the shaky line of his lips and the subtle bob of his adam’s apple as he takes in a harsh gulp, that this look is perplexion, tinged with pure hurt.

“I don’t wanna argue. I won’t argue. But can’tcha see it from my perspective?”

“And what’s that?”

“I ain’t wanna feel like I’m gettin’ this ‘cause of what we have. That I’m only gettin’ a leg up ‘cause of who ya’ are and what ya’ are to me.”

“But you aren’t.” Tobio tilts his head, almost giving up in frustration, “I think you have the skill for it. If you know that then what does it matter? No one else knows about us, how would anyone even think of something like that?”

The thought makes Atsumu freeze. Being discovered. He likes to believe he is brave, that Tobio has built him up enough to do something for the two of them, but in reality he is twenty-one. He is twenty-one and a nobody, twenty-one and a commoner, twenty-one and hopelessly in love with all too much to lose to even have a hint of suspicion fall their way.

“Please, just drop it.”

“Why? I just want to be able to give you one tenth of all that you have given me. Why won’t you let me do that for you?”

And that is when it hits Atsumu, like an entire army descending on his castle, like arrows raining down from above, like the charge of a cavalry charging across the moat enclosing his heart. Tobio, _his precious Kageyama Tobio_ , feels just as he does. He too feels insecurity and unworthiness. God knows why. With who he is, the name that he has been bestowed, the lineage that makes up his bones, Tobio should strut with his head held high and his nose upturned. But Atsumu has always known that the prince doubts himself, he has known it since the day they met, little thirteen year old Tobio being alone in his lessons up until Atsumu showed up. He always has been a bit of a goody-two-shoes, always has been guarding his emotions all too much. Atsumu should have seen this coming. And now he knows what to say to make things all better.

“But ya’ already give me enough to make me happy, Tobio.” He reaches across the table to link their hands together, gently dragging his thumb over his lover’s knuckles. He knows Tobio responds well to holding hands, remembers the intimate detail the prince shared a while back, in between conversations like it was nothing he wanted to get into. But Atsumu remembers, and he does exactly what Tobio needs, as a tender smile spreads on his lips, “I ain’t want any more from ya’. ‘Cause all I’d ever need is right here: _you_.”

He reassures and explains, gently and with patience, so Tobio can understand, and so he can understand Tobio too. It’s weird almost, Atsumu has always believed that he is curt and a little bit of a tease, too convoluted and too invested in riling others up to have ever been able to be so eloquent. But Tobio has this effect on him; Tobio gives him the ability to talk with the gravity and thoughtfulness of a king mid-speech. Tobio makes every word he speaks worth something.

So the prince does not aid Atsumu in becoming a knight, and Atsumu pushes on his own, makes his own path like he promised destiny that he would all those years ago. It takes longer than it would have if Tobio had intervened, but Atsumu is someone who has worked for himself all his life, and enjoys the sweet taste of validation for his own efforts much more than anyone else’s help. He is twenty-two and no longer just Miya Atsumu. He is twenty-two and the kingdom’s second knight born of common blood. He is twenty-two and his name is weighted with the title of Sir and his shoulders kissed by the king’s sword; he is no longer the sword trainer’s son, but instead, a knight with his own purpose. 

A purpose granted by a title, a dream held onto with both hands, and a worthiness gifted by a prince whose eyes could not tear away from him through the entirety of his knighthood.

Eyes that are focused solely on him again, now that they are alone, the doors to Tobio’s court locked, guards outside told to scatter, because the prince has something to attend to. _Someone_ to attend to.

Atsumu has the velvet of the throne against his back, the intricate, curling auric designs of the headboard barely touching his hair, as its cold is washed out by the presence of Tobio’s body pressed flush against his. He has the prince in his lap, and it's an uncomfortable position to have two grown men fumbling with garments in the small space a throne provided, but they don’t possess the state of mind to care.

Everything is euphoric, soaked in hues of halcyon, sparkling like water-submerged gold under the bright light of a summer sun. Tobio’s lips taste like chardonnay and everything sweet, like the edge of the galaxy, a constellation for Atsumu to kiss into. His eyes are cobalt blue, like two sapphires and Atsumu leaves a peck on the curve of his brows because if he looks into them any longer he’s afraid he may never look away.

Every moment in their lives is now. There’s no before or after, no past or future, no memories or desires. Just _now_ , just each other’s embrace, just Kageyama Tobio and Miya Atsumu.

And as Tobio comes undone, as Atsumu twinges at the sensation of the prince’s nails dragging down his back, clawing his regality into him, Atsumu is rebuilt. Rebuilt in precious metals worth his weight in gold, and invaluable jewels that men would scour the earth to locate. He is rebuilt by Tobio’s love.

So if he notices the longer meetings the prince attends, the talks of treaties to sign, rumours of foreign princesses coming to visit, and the single golden ring with the name _‘Haiba’_ etched into it that Tobio always slips away into his pocket when he is around Atsumu, if he notices any of that, he chooses not to say a word. Not right now. For that is a problem for a future Miya Atsumu, and not the one who just wants a moment with his lover to go untarnished.

And the future Miya Atsumu learns that the fates have caught up with them, and that the card of the king that he held so closely to his heart, has never truly been his to keep. Not when destiny has always had the queen, ready to be played.

**Author's Note:**

> have i mentioned i love atsumu? i have come to the realisation that i really do. 
> 
> anyway this entire thing was an excuse for me to describe tobio as pretty, because that is what he is. and ik i said miwalisa was supposed to happen but they’ll be the next part (fr this time!!). can you tell i got a little tired of the religious imagery and so hard shouldered into royalty metaphors? 
> 
> anyway thank you sm for reading!! i really appreciate it. mwah see ya next time 💖


End file.
